DOTHAN, Alabama -- When
Richard Roberts matriculated through the University of Alabama's halls of learning
in the 1970s, there were plenty of Richards there.

But none
of them were from Arizona.

So his
classmates called him Tucson.

Makes
sense.

Well, actually
it doesn't.

He
wasn't from Tucson.

He was
from Fort Huachuca,
Ariz., the most recent stop of his father's military flying career.

That's
WAH-CHOO-KUH, a word for "thunder" that Indians named the nearby mountain
range.

Roberts
decided that geographical imprecision notwithstanding, surviving four years in
Tuscaloosa as Tucson Roberts would be less stressful than if your name was
Huachuca Roberts.

"Also, try teaching people how to spell and
pronounce Huachuca," Roberts says.

Calling
yourself Tucson also evinces a sort of manly John Wayne-esque swagger to it.
Try to get a date if your name is Wah-CHOO-Kuh.

The Army base was founded in 1877 as a forward
outpost in the war to catch, jail and defang Apache genius Geronimo. The base
founder was 6th Cavalry Captain Marmaduke Whitside. Try getting a date if
your name is Marmaduke from Wah-CHOO-Kuh.

Richard Roberts picked up the name "Tucson" as a student at the University of Alabama

Now he's the dean of the state's economic
developers, a discipline that barely existed in 1975. He's brought Alabama thousands
of jobs and millions in wages. What
does Richards know that soars beyond the obvious? "It's like being a librarian who knows all
the books and where to go to find the answers."

Tucson's 34-year union with Kathy ("the one and only") has produced three
children - Russell, Robyn and Richard III, now at UA. Tucson walks five miles
on the treadmill every morning, reads voraciously and treasures a '74 Porsche
that he gently is nursing back to health.

He's been around long enough that he's figured what really counts. First,
the love of a wife that "I've moved six or seven times over God's green acres."

"Yes, I believe in certain things spiritually. One thing I learned is that if you try to
lecture people, they sometimes shut you off," he says. "I've learned in
economic development that you just have to ask them what it takes to close the
deal. They'll generally tell you. In life, it's the same way. If you can ask
people what they believe and how can you help, they'll usually tell you."

As economic development chief in Covington County for a decade, Richards discovered
the value of aerospace jobs long ago. That led to a year as dean for
aviation and workforce at Enterprise State's Alabama Aviation Center, which
trains hundreds for high-demand jobs every year. Now he runs his own consulting
business in Dothan. Clients seek him.

The sky, as they say, is the limit.

"It used to be hard to promote aviation, but that was before everyone
figured out that 100 jobs in aerospace was worth 200 jobs in manufacturing," he
says.

Machines that use Bernoulli's principle to fly have gripped Alabama for
decades. But the money is gushing upward.

At the top of the 300-strong Alabama aerospace food pyramid
are Airbus, Sikorsky, Lockheed Martin, Bell Helicopter and Boeing. But to
glimpse the future, look below the glamor to the dozen or so MROs. Once an airplane is built, somebody has to
guarantee its extended life.

The MROs (for maintenance, repair and overhaul) keep
airplanes, helicopters and even space vehicles alive after the shine has worn
off. Every technician graduating from Alabama's air industry feeder schools has
a permanent $70,000-a-year job waiting.

And digging deeper, says Richards, the future will be
single-engine, elegantly sophisticated unmanned drones that fit perfectly
inside the MRO infrastructure. Alabama will have 23,000 new unmanned aircraft
jobs within 15 years.

Richards saw that coming decades ago.

That his career returned to focus on aviation seems natural considering
his father's wild blue yonder life. "When I was in college, I took ROTC and
they taught me to fly," he recalls. "But I couldn't sustain my license because
it cost $17 an hour to fly a Cessna. Beyond my means."

But that drought might end. The itch to rev a well-greased engine, check
the flaps and launch into the Alabama azure overhead can get hold of a person
and not let go. He's been around pilots and aerial grease monkeys for decades.

"Yes, I have been thinking a lot about that," he says in the low, quiet
voice that husbands often use when they don't want "Kathy, the one and only" to
hear.

So there might be intense negotiations ahead. He knows about negotiations.

And even if she says no to the Cessna, Tucson's life could be worse. His
dad might have named him Marmaduke.

David Rutter, a former community newspaper editor, contributes regularly to Connecting Alabama.

I hope you enjoy his work as much as I do.

Chuck Dean is connecting Alabama through the stories told by its people -- sometimes about themselves, sometimes about their neighbors, sometimes about the places they call home.

Share your stories, or introduce us to people we should connect with. Reach out on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram using #connectAL, email cdean@al.com or send Chuck a note at 2201 Fourth Ave. N, Birmingham AL 35203.